


Too Far to Walk (But You Don't Have to Run)

by enigmaticblue



Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, Bruce has no idea why he thought a bullet would kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Far to Walk (But You Don't Have to Run)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, “depression.” Title from the Jars of Clay song, “Boys (Lesson One)”
> 
> Trigger warning for attempted suicide, and suicidal thoughts.

_Not to undermine the consequence_  
But you are not what you do  
And when you need it most  
I have a hundred reasons why I love you  
  
So you know who you are  
And you know what you want  
I've been where you're going  
And it's not that far  
It's too far to walk  
But you don't have to run  
You'll get there in time 

 

In retrospect, Bruce has no idea why he thought a bullet would kill him, but in his defense, while he’d known the Other Guy could take a rain of bullets; he hadn’t known that protection extended to him, too.

 

When he wakes up after that disastrous attempt at ending everything, it’s the push he needs to turn his focus elsewhere. He devotes himself to helping others after that—but he’s not as careful as he could be.

 

Bruce heads to Pakistan, and he doesn’t shy away from going to the more dangerous areas. It’s a risk, but those are the people who need doctors most, and there are few others who are willing to go.

 

He’s careful with his patients and careless with his own health. He eats little and sleeps in snatches. He takes care not to transmit infection, but doesn’t worry about catching the illnesses he treats. In fact, Bruce half-hopes that the viruses and bacteria, the fungi and parasites, get past his defenses where a bullet won’t.

 

And he’s disappointed when he doesn’t catch so much as a cold.

 

From Pakistan, he goes to Uzbekistan, binding up wounds and passing out whatever antibiotics he can beg, borrow, or steal. He finds his calm center comforting crying children and sponging fevered brows, and takes that to remote Afghanistan—nowhere near where the military is operating—and he faces down drug lords as he’s passing through without the Other Guy making an appearance.

 

Bruce turns them aside with a soft word and a downcast eye, maybe because they don’t see him as a threat, with his ragged clothes and empty hands.

 

He tries not to think about how good it would feel to let the Other Guy out to wreak havoc upon these men with their guns and attitude. He tries not to think about how much he wishes they’d try to kill him.

 

And he’s angry _all the time_ , but he knows no good will come from losing control, so he keeps a tight rein on that anger, doing what he can to provide aid to the sick and the dying. The grinding poverty, the hunger, the lack of clean water and medicine, the corruption, it all serves to keep him going.

 

He eats food and drinks water that should kill him but doesn’t. He exposes himself to illnesses, but never gets sick. He moves on to Kolkata, living in the slums, doing what he can to ease the suffering there.

 

Bruce learns to live with his anger and his disappointment that he’s still alive, and then Natasha Romanoff shows up and ruins his hard-won equilibrium.

 

Meeting Tony Stark just puts the nail in his coffin.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce thinks about those days a lot while holed up in one of Tony’s labs. If he were smarter, if he were a better person, he’d leave, find another city and disappear.

 

He’s not naïve enough to think SHIELD—or Tony—couldn’t track him, but he could try, and knowing they’d be looking would give him an edge he didn’t have before.

 

He wishes that first attempt, that bullet, had killed him. He wishes his carelessness with his life had paid off.

 

Bruce hates the fact that he’s this low when he has no right. He’s working in a high-tech paean to modernity, and he’s living there, too. Clothes appear in his closet, food is readily available, and he’s got an unlimited supply of hot water.

 

There are people Bruce has known who would kill to be where he is, and he wants to feel grateful, but he’s stuck on wanting Tony, whom he can’t have.

 

He’s been working for almost three days straight, and he’s eaten little, but he’s trying to find a better housing for Tony’s arc reactor, one that will stand up to the beating Tony sustained during the battle against the Chitauri.

 

Work is the only thing distracting him these days, and if this doesn’t suffice, if he can’t shake his depression, Bruce will disappear once he’s finished this project. He’ll just do a better job of it.

 

The door slides open, and Tony says, “You know, I think my feelings are hurt.”

 

Bruce sighs, wishing he’d thought to lock the door against Tony—or more realistically, that Tony had given him at least another day.

 

“No, strike that,” Tony says after a pause. “My feelings _are_ hurt. You’ve been ignoring me.”

 

Bruce smiles reflexively. “I’ve been working. There’s a difference.”

 

“See, I think you missed the whole point of me bringing you here to _work with me._ ”

 

“You had meetings,” Bruce counters.

 

Tony shrugs. “Yes, but I had time in between, and I still didn’t see you. Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I’m all right.”

 

“Because I wouldn’t want you to get low again,” Tony says.

 

Bruce tries to laugh that off, but he can’t quite manage it. “Yeah, well. It happens. But you don’t have to worry about the Other Guy making an appearance.”

 

“I’m not worried about the Hulk,” Tony replies. “ _He_ likes me.”

 

That causes Bruce to pause. “I like you.”

 

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Bruce protests.

 

Tony fixes him with a skeptical look. “You know, I’d believe that you’re a decent poker player, but you suck at lying to my face.”

 

Bruce sighs. “Will you believe that I like you?”

 

“That, I believe,” Tony replies. “Mostly because there’s no one who doesn’t like me when they get to know me.”

 

Bruce laughs. “I doubt that.”

 

“Okay, there might be a _few_ people who don’t like me,” Tony admits. “But not many. And they’re all assholes.”

 

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

 

“Hey, I haven’t met everybody,” Tony protests. “So I can only guess at the number, and I’m betting it’s a few. Like, under fifty.”

 

Bruce laughs outright at that.

 

“So, you want to tell me why you haven’t been eating or sleeping?” Tony presses.

 

Bruce frowns. “I’ve slept.”

 

“Jarvis, you want to fill Dr. Banner in on how much he’s slept in the last three days?”

 

“Approximately five hours,” Jarvis says helpfully.

 

Bruce frowns. “You know, it’s really creepy that you have your house keep tabs on me.”

 

Tony waves that concern away. “Jarvis keeps tabs on everybody. You’ll get used to it. Pepper has.”

 

“I’m not Pepper,” Bruce feels compelled to point out.

 

“True,” Tony agrees. “There’s a distinct lack of breasts on your part, which is really too bad, since I like breasts.”

 

Bruce looks away, emotion rising up, because _this_ is why he’s holed up here—it’s jealousy and desire and fear all rolled up into one, and Bruce isn’t sure he can deal with it.

 

“Although I’m partial to dicks, too,” Tony adds. “I’d have to be. I have one.”

 

Bruce lets out a choked laugh at the outrageousness of that statement. “Tony—”

 

“You have two choices,” Tony says, ignoring Bruce. “You can eat or you can sleep, and I’m not going to take no for an answer on this one. Actually, never mind, you’re going to do both, but you get to pick which you do first, because I’m feeling magnanimous.”

 

“I shouldn’t be here,” Bruce murmurs.

 

Tony snorts. “That’s just crazy talk.” He fixes Bruce with an intense stare, with eyes that see too much, and always have. Bruce doesn’t think there are many people who know how very sharp Tony’s gaze can be. “Bruce, tell me—are you okay?”

 

Bruce much prefers Tony to be flippant; Tony’s sincerity undoes him, possibly because it’s so rare. “I don’t know,” Bruce admits, unable to come up with a lie. “But I promise I’m not going to put a bullet in my brain any time soon.”

 

“It’s not always about a bullet,” Tony replies. “I meant what I said, though. Sleep or food?”

 

Bruce stares down at his hands, and his stomach rumbles, as if on cue. “Food, I guess.”

 

Tony puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce tries not to shrug him off, but his hand drops immediately, maybe because he feels Bruce stiffen.

 

“Sorry,” Bruce apologizes immediately. “I just—sorry.”

 

Tony shoves his hands in his pockets. “Contrary to popular theory, I _can_ take a hint.”

 

“It’s not…” He rubs his eyes and tries for the truth. “This is why I was avoiding you.”

 

“Aha! So, you _do_ admit you were avoiding me,” Tony says triumphantly.

 

“Just because I’m a little low, doesn’t mean I need to bring everybody else down too,” Bruce continues, ignoring Tony.

 

Tony shakes his head. “First, have you met me? I highly doubt you could bring me down, not unless I _wanted_ to go down. Which might be one way to bring you out of your funk, now that I think about it.”

 

Bruce blinks. “Um, what?”

 

“Second, did I ever tell you about that time when I was dying?” He puts an arm around Bruce’s shoulders and steers him into the elevator.

 

Bruce usually doesn’t have too much trouble keeping up with Tony, but he’s sleep deprived, his mind sluggish, and he can’t switch gears from what sounded like a proposition to a question about Tony’s near-brush with death. All he can think to ask is, “Which time?”

 

Tony smirks at him. “Good question, and I think I’ve lost track. Somehow, I think that’s a negative reflection on my current lifestyle choices.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“Right, yes, it was the time I was being slowly poisoned by the palladium core in my reactor.” Tony taps his chest with his free hand. “It pretty much sucked.”

 

Bruce is still trying to keep up. “Why would you use palladium? That stuff will kill you.”

 

Tony gives him a pitying look. “You know, on second thought, I’m going to insist that you sleep first. You’re not keeping up.”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees, rubbing his eyes again. “Sorry.”

 

“Forget it,” Tony replies. “Come on, I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

 

“Where are we going?” Bruce asks, and now that the prospect of being horizontal is so close, he’s a little unsteady on his feet.

 

“My room, because it’s closer,” Tony replies. “Also, as I mentioned, I can keep an eye on you.”

 

“You don’t have to do that.”

 

Tony snorts. “Too bad. I’ll be hovering until I can be certain you’re taking care of yourself. I’m your new best friend.”

 

“I thought you were already my best friend,” Bruce mutters, sagging against Tony just a bit when he catches sight of the bed.

 

“Which begs the question of why you were avoiding me,” Tony replies, dumping Bruce on the bed. “When we could have been getting drunk together.”

 

“I think that’s your method of dealing.” Bruce’s eyes are already sliding shut as Tony pulls his shoes off.

 

He feels the weight of a blanket settle over him. “It’s a time honored method,” Tony says, and Bruce feels fingers card through his hair. “You should try it next time.”

 

And Bruce drifts off with the feeling of Tony’s hand in his hair.

 

~~~~~

 

When Bruce wakes up, he can smell coffee and eggs and bacon.

 

“No protests,” Tony says before Bruce even opens his eyes. “You’re running on fumes, and you need the calories.”

 

Bruce scrubs at his face, sleep-muddled and uncertain. “Smells good.”

 

“You should feel honored,” Tony says. “It’s not everyone I bring breakfast in bed.”

 

“I’m feeling very honored,” Bruce replies, sitting up, seeing the tray sitting between them. There’s toast and orange juice, in addition to the eggs, bacon, and coffee he’d smelled.

 

“Eat up,” Tony urges.

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “What about you?”

 

“I already ate,” Tony says. “Go on.”

 

Bruce’s head is feeling a little clearer now, and he says, “Thanks.”

 

“Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Tony replies, leaning back against the headboard, making himself comfortable. “I think I was right in the middle of a story when you passed out.”

 

Bruce focuses on his eggs. “Yeah, something about the time you almost died.”

 

“Oh, so you _were_ paying attention,” Tony says. “You can get the full story from Pepper sometime. Let’s just say that I have experienced many flavors of self-destruction.”

 

“I wasn’t—” Bruce begins, but stops, because yeah, he kind of was. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Probably,” Tony agrees cheerfully enough, and then he turns serious again. “Call me selfish, but I like you in one piece.”

 

Bruce glances up. “I wouldn’t call you selfish.”

 

“Then clearly we need to get to know each other better,” Tony counters.

 

Bruce shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. “I think I know you well enough.”

 

“You probably know me better than most,” Tony agrees. “But I don’t think you’ve been paying attention.”

 

“What have I missed?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony steals a piece of bacon off of Bruce’s plate. “You missed the part where I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“No, I think I got that part,” Bruce replies, waving at Tony.

 

Tony shakes his head, chewing loudly. “For a smart guy, you really can be dense.” He rolls off the bed gracefully, coming around to Bruce’s side of the bed. “You do realize that you’re the first person who speaks my language _and_ who seems to be able to stand my company for long periods of time.”

 

Bruce has no idea where Tony is going with this. “I could say the same.” He could add that Tony’s the first person in a long time who’s seen the Hulk and still isn’t afraid of him.

 

Tony cups the back of Bruce’s neck and squeezes gently. “Then do yourself a favor and think about my earlier offer.”

 

Bruce frowns. “Which offer would that be?”

 

Tony shakes his head. “You’re the only person who’d forget me propositioning you.”

 

Bruce nearly chokes on his own spit. “Tony!”

 

“Think about it,” he urges.

 

Bruce flushes. “Pretty sure I won’t be able to _stop_ thinking about it.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Tony replies. “Feeling any better?”

 

Bruce smiles and looks away. “A little bit.”

 

Tony pats him on the shoulder. “I aim to please.”

 

“Thanks,” Bruce calls as Tony leaves the bedroom.

 

Tony just smiles. “You’re not the only one who’s ever been low, Bruce.”

 

“Yeah,” he murmurs and watches as Tony leaves.

 

And for that moment, at least, Bruce doesn’t regret the fact that the bullet didn’t kill him.


End file.
